The words came from a small boy standing near the doorway, his voice calm but sharp enough to slice through the heavy silence in the room. At first, no one reacted. The adults exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to laugh or correct him.
Then the millionaire laughed.
It wasn’t a kind laugh. It was the dismissive kind—the kind people use when they believe something is too absurd to even consider.
“Kid,” Daniel Voss said, leaning back in his leather chair, “that’s not something you joke about.”
The room was dimly lit, the curtains half-drawn against the gray afternoon sky. A few business partners stood nearby, along with two household staff members. They had all gathered to discuss a matter that had already cast a shadow over the entire estate—the confirmed death of a woman named Elena Maris.
She had been gone for three days.
At least, that’s what everyone believed.
The boy didn’t laugh back.
He didn’t even flinch.
“I’m not joking,” he said quietly.
That was when something shifted.
Daniel’s smile didn’t disappear immediately, but it faded just enough for discomfort to creep in. There was something in the boy’s eyes—something steady, unshaken—that made the words feel heavier than they should have.
“What’s your name again?” Daniel asked, his tone softer now.
“Adrian,” the boy replied.
Adrian wasn’t supposed to be part of this conversation. He was the son of one of the estate’s gardeners, a quiet child who usually kept to himself. He had been waiting outside the office when the discussion began, unnoticed until he spoke.
“And you’re saying you saw Elena yesterday?” Daniel asked, folding his hands together.
Adrian nodded.
“Where?”
The question lingered in the air like a held breath.
“In the east garden,” Adrian said. “Near the old fountain.”
A ripple of unease passed through the room.
The east garden had been closed off for months. After Elena’s death, no one had gone there—not officially, at least. It had been her favorite place, a quiet corner filled with ivy-covered stone and the soft sound of trickling water.
Daniel exhaled slowly, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Listen, Adrian,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “What you think you saw—it probably wasn’t her. Sometimes our minds—”
“It was her,” Adrian interrupted.
Not loudly.
Not rudely.
But with a certainty that made everyone fall silent again.
Daniel leaned forward this time, his expression tightening. “And what exactly was she doing?” he asked.
Adrian hesitated.
For the first time, his gaze flickered—not with doubt, but with something closer to fear.
“She was just… standing there,” he said. “Looking at the house.”
A chill seemed to settle over the room.
One of the staff members shifted uncomfortably. Another crossed her arms, as if trying to shield herself from something unseen.
Daniel stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the polished floor.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly. “We’re not turning this into some ghost story.”
But even as he spoke, the confidence in his voice felt thinner than before.
Because there was something he hadn’t told anyone.
The night before, just as the rain had started to fall, Daniel had walked past the east wing window. For a brief moment—so quick he had almost dismissed it—he thought he saw a figure in the garden.
He had told himself it was a trick of the light.
A shadow.
Nothing more.
But now…
“Who else was there?” Daniel asked suddenly, his voice lower.
Adrian blinked. “No one,” he said. “Just her.”
“And she didn’t say anything?”
The boy shook his head. “No. But…” he paused.
“But what?”
Adrian swallowed, his small hands tightening at his sides.
“She looked like she wanted to.”
The words hung in the air, unfinished yet complete in their meaning.
Daniel turned away, walking toward the window. He pulled the curtain aside slightly, staring out at the distant outline of the east garden. From this angle, it was barely visible—just a cluster of dark shapes beyond the trimmed hedges.
“You’re sure it was yesterday?” he asked without turning back.
“Yes.”
“At what time?”
“Late,” Adrian said. “Almost dark.”
Daniel’s grip on the curtain tightened.
That was exactly when he had seen the figure.
A coincidence, he told himself.
It had to be.
But the certainty he had clung to earlier was slipping, replaced by something far less comfortable.
Doubt.
“Sir…” one of the staff members spoke hesitantly. “Maybe we should—”
“No,” Daniel cut in quickly. “We’re not doing this.”
He let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face the room again, forcing a composed expression.
“Elena is gone,” he said. “We have official confirmation. There’s nothing more to discuss.”
The others nodded, though not convincingly.
Everyone felt it.
Something wasn’t right.
Adrian, however, didn’t move.
